


Crawling

by Shoulder_Devil



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Depression, Gen, Panic Attacks, Season 1 aftermath, but then angst happened, still a bit of crack though, this was supposed to be a crack fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 11:41:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13740129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoulder_Devil/pseuds/Shoulder_Devil
Summary: Jon woke up with a groan, he’d slept too long and the painkillers he’d taken earlier had worn off. If he managed to keep to the dosing schedule the medication kept his injuries fogged over with an almost pleasant haze. Once the pain gained a foothold however, it took much longer for the meds to bring it down to a tolerable level. He wasn’t looking forward to the next few hours.





	Crawling

Jon woke up with a groan, he’d slept too long and the painkillers he’d taken earlier had worn off. If he managed to keep to the dosing schedule the medication kept his injuries fogged over with an almost pleasant haze. Once the pain gained a foothold however, it took much longer for the meds to bring it down to a tolerable level. He wasn’t looking forward to the next few hours.

He struggled to his feet and shuffled over to the kitchen. Pouring himself a glass of water then fumbling open the pill bottles to shake out two into his hand. He downed the tablets and chased them with a full glass of water as per the instructions.

It would be a while before they kicked in, and he needed to find something to distract himself from the throbbing itch coming from a multitude of wounds. He didn’t own a television, not out of some holier-than-thou attitude, Jon had just put off getting one when he moved out on his own and found he really didn’t miss it. While he didn’t have much in the way of friends outside of work, he could usually manage an invite to a Eurovision viewing party when the time came.

While not totally out of it, the Archivist didn’t really have the mental energy to read at the moment. Besides, most of his current collection was Institute related and he needed a break from all that for a bit. He had a look at his shelves anyway to see if anything caught his eye. Tucked away on one end of the second shelf from the bottom he spotted a zipper case of old cds he’d had since university.

He pulled out the case and flipped it open. Leafing through it revealed a selection of silver disks labeled with permanent marker with things like “study mix”, several marked “random”, and even one marked “Georgie”. That last one brought a wistful smile to his face for a brief moment. He selected one from the random selection, “random #3” and loaded it into the disk drive on his laptop.

The media player displayed no data on the disk’s contents aside from Track 1, Track 2, and so on through Track 18. He hit play and some kind of pop music from the early 2000s began to play. Skipping to a different song he had a listen, more innocuous music that served as the soundtrack to his life some fifteen years ago. Deciding that there were worse ways to spend the afternoon, he settled in on the couch to have a listen and remember better days.

Jon was only half paying attention to the songs themselves. He was riding a wave of nostalgia for his university days. Too late nights out with friends, discussing topics ranging from classes, politics, to who was fucking who. There was even one bizzare evening spent debating the merits of the Doctor Who revival.

He faintly registered the beginnings of a song from Linkin Park but was still off in his own head until the words _crawling in my skin_ brought him smashing back to his present reality. The painkillers, that had started doing their job, now rendered irrelevant as the sensation of dozens of worms squirming, burrowing, _crawling_ overwhelmed him.

Panic flooded his body and he shot up, frantically checking his arms and legs for movement. Nearly all the places where Jane Prentiss’s “gifts” had breached the Archivist’s skin were covered in plasters or gauze. Intellectually, he knew there was nothing there, but he couldn’t stop feeling that _movement_.

He was suddenly hyper aware of everything touching him. The adhesive bandages that pulled slightly when he moved, where his fingers brushed his skin as he checked over himself; all felt like malicious foreign invaders. His breath hitching in his throat he threw off his shirt and began to claw at the wrappings covering his body. It was too much, far too much.

Heart hammering in his chest and breath catching in his throat, he stumbled to the bathroom to utilize the mirror. He couldn’t see any motion under his exposed skin but, even as he tore the bandages away, so much of it was still covered. The itching, squirming sensations that overtook his senses made him feel distinctly unclean.

Not even bothering to remove his trousers, Jon stepped into the shower. He cranked the water as hot as it would go and stood under the resulting flow. It was shockingly cold at first but warmed up quickly. After about a minute, he was able to focus more on the sensation of the water hitting his skin, of it washing away any contamination.

Breathing easier now, he began to come back to himself. Looking down he took in the sight of himself. Bandages half ripped off, pink tinged gause collecting water, soaked trousers, and sodden socks. A piece of gauze had caught in the drain causing the water to start to back up in the tub. Not ready to leave the comfort of the hot water quite yet, he adjusted the temperature so as not to scald himself and set about removing the rest of his clothes.

He stood there for a long time, by the time he stepped out the water had gone cold. He wrapped himself in a towel and scooped up the pile of his soaking clothes. He tossed them into the washer and proceeded into the kitchen. Opening a cabinet, he pulled down a bottle of scotch given as gift upon graduation. Despite having had the bottle for nearly ten years it was barely half empty.

Jon poured out two fingers into a tumbler and regarded it briefly. Mixing alcohol and painkillers was not a good plan. Sighing in acknowledgement of his poor decision, he knocked back the drink and coughed a bit before pouring himself half again as much and repeating the process. Warmth spread through his chest and he hoped that he’d had enough to avoid the nightmares pressing up against his consciousness but not so much that he would end up hungover. He’d hadn’t drunk all that much, but when combined with prescription painkillers...

Well that was a problem for future Jonathan Sims, present Jon had something else on his mind as he strode over to his computer. The disk had finished playing and had mercifully not been set to repeat. He ejected the disk, hooked a finger through the hole in the center, and stepped to the rubbish bin. Turning his head and closing his eyes so as to avoid any flying shrapnel, Jon snapped the disk in two and dropped the pieces in the bin.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a crack fic about Jonathan Sims, emo boy Archivist being sad and singing along to everyone's favorite early 2000s angst song. 
> 
> I want to be sorry about this, but I'm not.


End file.
